


The Perfect Mentor

by JungleKitty



Series: Kirk/Brandt Cycle [3]
Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-28 12:55:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21137036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JungleKitty/pseuds/JungleKitty
Summary: (c) 1998 Jungle Kitty. Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.This story is one in a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt. It is #3 in the entire series, and part of the Academy Stories (2250-2254)





	The Perfect Mentor

**Author's Note:**

> (c) 1998 Jungle Kitty. Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.
> 
> This story is one in a series about the relationship between James Kirk and Suzanne Brandt. It is #3 in the entire series, and part of the Academy Stories (2250-2254)

The combatants struggled on the mat, as their classmates shouted encouragement. Captain Reynolds stood over them, shaking his head. He blew his whistle and the two cadets fell away from each other, panting.

"Kirk!" he barked. "What is the point of this exercise?"

"To win, sir!" The larger of the two replied between gasps.

"No, Mr. Kirk. The objective is to gain experience in fighting someone with whom you are *not* equally matched. Your gentlemanly restraint, while appropriate at a tea dance, is out of place in this class. You're not doing your opponent any favors by holding back."

"Yes, sir."

"And Brandt!"

The sandy-haired young woman sat up and wiped the sweat from her face.

"Sir!"

"This isn't some backseat struggle where you want him to win. If he chickens like that, *take him apart*. Understood?"

"Understood, sir!"

"Now let's try it again."

The two friends crouched tensely at the center of the floor, their eyes sparkling as they taunted each other.

"Witch."

"Troll."

The whistle shrieked sharply.

With stunning speed, Kirk took Brandt all the way to the wall, hitting it with resounding force. She cried out in pain and doubled over. He bent down to help her.

"Brandt! Are you--"

She shot up and sent him staggering backwards across the floor with a two-fisted punch to his jaw.

The whistle screamed shrilly as the other cadets howled.

"This is *not* a street brawl!" Captain Reynolds bellowed. "Wrestling, remember?" He noticed Brandt cradling her arm. "You hurt, mister?"

"I hit my elbow against the wall, sir."

The instructor looked at her in surprise. He thought she'd faked the injury to fool her opponent.

"All right, Brandt," he chuckled. "I'll give you this one for--resourcefulness."

"Thank you, sir!"

She grinned triumphantly as Kirk glared at her.

"Now go to the locker room and ice your arm."

"Yes, sir."

"Kirk, you can stand down."

"Aye, sir."

Kirk flopped down on the gymnasium floor next to his roommate, who nudged him and whispered, "Geez, kid. Beaten by a *girl*."

"Shut up, Mitchell," Kirk growled.

"NEXT!"

***

One hour later, Kirk entered the infirmary and was directed to a cubicle where he found Brandt sitting on a table with her sleeve torn open to the shoulder. A doctor was lecturing her as he applied the last of a regen cast to her arm.

"Didn't I just take one of these off you, cadet?" the doctor asked.

"It was my wrist, sir. And it was almost two months ago."

"And before that, it was a broken leg. On the Republic, wasn't it? Are you going for some kind of record?"

"No, sir."

"Well, take it easy. If you come in here once more before the end of the term, I'll have to put you on the payroll."

"Yes, sir."

"All right." He patted his handiwork. "Come back in a week and we'll remove it."

The doctor picked up the injured cadet's chart and left. Kirk approached her sheepishly.

"Broken?" he asked.

"No, just cracked. At least this time, it wasn't my own fault." She grinned at him. "You big bully."

"Sorry. So...how can I make it up to you?"

"Well, if you weren't under age, I'd let you buy me a beer." She hopped down off the table. "Pick up my study bag, will you?"

"Always glad to help the elderly," he retorted cheerfully as he swung her bag over his shoulder.

***

As they left the building, Kirk offered to buy her dinner.

"Thanks, JT, but I have to plan my big coup."

"What big coup?"

Brandt smiled smugly. "I finally got my first signature."

"Who?"

"Captain Reynolds. After class, he said he thought my true calling was as an assault specialist, but he signed my application."

"Congratulations, Brat."

He meant it. It seemed patently unfair that the faculty was so reluctant to support her efforts to attend command school. He and Mitchell had both collected the three required signatures weeks ago and the deadline was fast approaching. As a third-year cadet, if Brandt didn't complete her application by the end of term, she'd end up where her advisers wanted her--communications.

"So what's your battle plan, commander?" he tweaked her good-naturedly.

"Captain deMarc has agreed to let me plead my case one more time tomorrow at 1600. If he signs--"

"You'll be home free."

She looked at him dubiously.

"You *know* where you can get that third approval in a minute." He tried not to sound condescending.

"Forget it. I'd rather--"

"Spend your entire career in communications?"

***

"Captain deMarc, you've seen my simulator performances and my evaluations from the Republic assignment--"

"Yes, I have, Brandt, and they're very good. But it's a case of putting people where they can be the most useful. Now I've spoken to your advisers and we all agree that communications would be lucky to have someone with your abilities in languages and computers--"

"Begging the captain's pardon, but those abilities are far-outstripped by my talent for butt-kicking."

"You're bordering on insubordination, mister."

"Sorry, sir."

"And there's more to command than kicking butts."

"Yes, sir."

The captain handed the application back to her.

"I'm not going to give you your second approval, cadet." Her face fell and he continued firmly. "However, I will give you your third. Now we both know where you can get another signature. Show that to me by 1800 this Friday and I'll add mine."

"But, sir--"

"Brandt. If you ever get your own command, you will find that flexibility is absolutely essential. If you're serious about this, you'll get that signature. Dismissed."

***

"I'm sunk."

Brandt lay sulking on the floor of the quarters that Kirk and Mitchell shared.

"You're not sunk, you're stupid." Mitchell frowned at her in disgust.

"Thanks, Mitchell, that's just what I needed to hear."

"You're making this harder than it has to be, Brandt," Kirk scolded. "Just swallow your damn pride and--"

"I can't stand her. I don't want her name on my application."

"She was your adviser for an entire term," he pleaded. They'd covered this ground several times already. "She thinks you're great. The two of you have so much in common--"

"She makes me sick."

"Too damn bad," he replied, losing patience at last. "Do you want command school or don't you?"

Brandt frowned uncomfortably and muttered, "She gives me the creeps."

"The *creeps*?" Mitchell repeated incredulously. "How old are you--eight? Next you'll be telling us she has cooties."

"Luckily, I never got close enough to find out," Brandt sniffed.

"All right, that's it." Fed up now, Kirk was right in her face. "All year long, we've listened very sympathetically as you've bitched and moaned about getting into command school. Now--finally!--it's within your reach and you're still crying in your beer because you may have to bend a little." Brandt opened her mouth to protest but Kirk overrode her firmly. "I never thought I'd say this, Brandt, but I'm ashamed of you. Now stop whining, get off your butt, and get that signature."

"Back off, Kirk!" she snapped.

"Jim, give it up," Mitchell advised wearily. "There's no point in arguing with her."

"The two of you have it so damn easy," she snarled. "You didn't have to crawl to get your approvals. They were practically lining up to sign for you."

Kirk picked her up off the floor and propelled her towards the doorway. "Goodbye, Brat-and-I-do-mean-Brat. Come back when you grow up."

He pushed her out into the corridor and the door slid shut. The two men looked at each other dubiously.

"Do you think she'll do it?"

"Well, if she doesn't--" Mitchell shrugged. "Hailing frequencies open."

***

On Friday afternoon, Brandt sat outside the office of her former mentor, trying to convince herself that there was no shame in saying "I need your help."

She glanced up at the chron and waited until 1645 precisely before pressing the chime. When petitioning the perfect, do as the perfect do.

"Come."

Brandt took a deep breath and entered the office.

"Suzanne, come in," the captain greeted her warmly.

"Captain."

"Have a seat. I'll be right with you."

"Thank you, sir."

Brandt sat down and looked around the office, noting the neat rows of books. She pulled herself up straight in the chair, refusing to be intimated by mere tidiness. She stole a glance at the captain. Twenty years her senior, the tall, elegant woman always made Brandt feel like a scruffy street urchin.

The captain silently reviewed the cadet's latest fitness report. It read like all the earlier evaluations: capable, motivated, bright--with one glaring handicap.

For Suzanne Brandt, the toughest part about the Academy was the emphasis on teamwork. She had a tendency to take over group assignments, directing the work of her classmates and even occasionally taking it away from them. It seemed easier to do the job herself--*right*--than to watch someone else struggle through it. And if she couldn't do it, she toughed it out until she could.

The captain sighed and read no further. She didn't need to refresh herself on the young woman's background--she'd studied it very carefully when she'd first been assigned as Brandt's adviser three years ago.

Born on Kyros, one of two children, motherless at the age of six. The father was a terraforming engineer and almost entirely absent from his children's lives. The years spent bouncing between boarding schools and camps had made the girl extremely self-reliant and resourceful, but it had also left some notable gaps in her interpersonal skills.

The captain had tried to take the stubborn cadet under her wing and that was not a place Brandt found comfortable. She had chafed at every gentle hint, bristled under the subtle offers of assistance, and finally moved onto another, less sympathetic mentor with a gruff "Sorry, sir."

After that, the captain had quietly kept tabs on Brandt's Academy career but had resisted the urge to interfere. The young woman had a quick wit and was well-liked and respected by her classmates and instructors. But her only truly close friends were Kirk and Mitchell. The captain had seen the easy-going Mitchell tease "the Brat" into compliance and Kirk, although nearly two years her junior, had an almost unerring instinct for when to shake his friend by the scruff of her neck like a wayward puppy. But apart from those two, Brandt kept her fellow cadets at a careful, although friendly distance.

If she could just learn to trust people--personally *and* professionally--she could do just about anything, the captain thought. Well, maybe coming here is a first step.

"What can I do for you, cadet?" the captain asked, pushing an auburn lock of hair behind her ears.

"It's about my application for command school, sir."

"Yes, I've heard you've been having some trouble with that. What's your major again?"

"Languages, sir."

"Verbal or digital?"

"Both, sir."

"And your advisers are pushing you into--?"

"Communications, sir."

"Hm. At least it's better than it was in my day. I had a double in engineering and xenobiology. When I first tried for command school, they wanted me to go into stellar cartography. Go figure."

Brandt managed to look amused.

"Well, who have you got so far?"

"Captain Reynolds, sir."

"Ah!" The captain glanced at the regen cast. "Yes, he's always been impressed by a gung ho spirit. Anyone else?"

"Captain deMarc says he'll be my third."

"But not your second? Interesting. Why do you think that is?"

"I think he wants to--challenge me, sir."

"Challenge you. Does he think you've been on a picnic for the past three years?" The captain shook her head.

Brandt smiled wanly. The captain decided to try another tactic.

"Your friends Kirk and Mitchell have already applied, haven't they?"

"Yes, sir."

"I've looked at the class standings. You're not far below Kirk and you're ranked higher than Mitchell. Your reports are excellent and your performance in the ion storm simulation was...impressive. Given the circumstances."

The older woman smiled knowingly. Brandt squirmed.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Suzanne. You've got a lot to learn. It's tough here at the Academy but you've made it harder on yourself than it has to be. Once you get out of here, some things get a little easier. The top brass still has some backwards ideas about women in command positions, but the people on the front lines--the ones you'll be working with every day--can't afford that kind of thinking. So don't kid yourself that being a woman is the problem. You and I both know why you're having trouble getting those approvals."

/Just tell me yes or no and end the torture./

"There's more to Starfleet than warp drives and regulations," the captain continued. "It also runs on commitment to the job and each other. You'll never be a good commander if you judge everyone as harshly as you have your classmates. You'll only make it impossible for a crew to accept you. And although the word 'command' makes it sound like you're in charge, it's actually a matter of working *with* people. You can't bully them into doing what you want, not if you want to depend on them in a crisis. First and foremost, a commander has to rely on the people around him and let them do their jobs. If you don't trust them, they'll never trust you."

/Here it comes. Hello, communications./

"I would hope that the past three years have taught you something about valuing other people's contributions. Kirk and Mitchell are fine men but they aren't the only two people here worthy of your friendship. And *you* are not infallible nor are you always the best choice for every task. I believe you'd be much happier if you'd come down off your high horse, Suzanne. You might find mere mortals enjoyable."

The captain leaned forward and studied the cadet, noting the white knuckles gripping the chair arms. She continued in a more sympathetic tone.

"I know it wasn't easy for you to come to me on this. I've always regretted not being able to work out our differences. But I don't hold that against you and I have always wished you well. And even if I didn't, that wouldn't change the fact that, despite your shortcomings--" She pulled the application toward herself. "--I think you have the makings of an excellent commander."

Brandt's eyes opened wide in astonishment. Watching the captain put her signature to the form, she almost shook with heart-pounding exhileration.

"Thank you, captain," she said breathlessly as the woman pushed the paper toward her.

"You're welcome. Think about what I said, Suzanne. You're not a natural-born leader--you're a natural-born boss. There's a big difference. Leadership is something you're going to have to work at."

"I will, sir."

"Very good."

The captain rose and walked Brandt to the door.

"One more thing, cadet. Don't let me down. When you graduate, I want to see a notation on your record that says, 'Plays well with others.'"

For the first time, Brandt returned the captain's smile with genuine warmth.

"Yes, sir."

***

Cadet Brandt ran up the steps to the science building and collided directly with the two men she was seeking.

"I got them! All three! All three approvals!"

"Good for you, Brat!" Kirk laughed as he crushed her in a bear hug.

"I don't believe it. You couldn't possibly have found three people who think you're qualified--" Mitchell teased her, ruffling her hair.

"Read 'em and weep, boys."

She proudly displayed the application with the three precious signatures.

1\. Captain Tyler Reynolds

2\. Captain Mary Sue

3\. Captain Robert deMarc


End file.
